


Return to Haven

by Gildaurel



Category: LACKEY Mercedes - Works, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-16
Updated: 2012-09-16
Packaged: 2017-11-14 09:10:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/513621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildaurel/pseuds/Gildaurel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Vanyel's return to Haven, including his first meeting with Tantras, his budding friendship with Randale and Shavri, his destruction of the hedge wizards up North, and some non-canon characters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Vanyel looked at the new Armsmaster appraisingly. Leanly muscled, with set, grizzled features, he appeared to have spent his entire life on the front lines. _And he may well have_ , Vanyel thought soberly, remembering horror stories about Herald deployments to the Karsite border. _They say some of them stayed there for ten, fifteen years—and the longer you stayed, the harder it was to get out, since you knew the language and customs so well._ Involuntarily, he shuddered. _Savil might as well have just spit it out; I’m likely to be sent there as soon as I’ve proven I earned these Whites._

            A surprisingly soft voice interrupted his brooding. “You, there. You’re the new Herald-mage, back from the Outlands, aren’t you?”

            “Yes,” Vanyel replied hesitantly. _I know so few people here, I never had time to really talk to any Herald-trainees save Tylendel—_ he stopped his thoughts there, as he had learned to do in the Vale. There was a time for mourning, and this certainly wasn’t it.

            The man gave him a once over and frowned. “Already advanced to Whites? How old are you, boy?”

            “Eighteen,” Vanyel replied hesitantly. Then, with more surety and a hint of severity, “And I promise you I earned my Whites.”

            The Armsmaster looked startled for a moment, before flashing a bright smile. “Good! That’s the attitude you should have, anytime anyone questions you. Now, even though you’re technically a Herald, you’re the same age as many last-year trainees. So I thought I’d place you with the Herald Tantras—he’s been testing our trainees before promotion to Whites.”

            Looking across the salle, past two sets of sparring Trainees, Vanyel saw a tall, graceful, dark-haired Herald carefully selecting a shield. Sensing someone’s gaze upon him, the man turned and Vanyel’s stomach did a little flip-flop. _He’s certainly handsome_.

            :Keep your mind on the task at hand.: Yfandes’ Mindvoice was filled with humor. :I know we’ve been on the road for two months, but this is important. They need to believe you’re worth your Whites.:

            :Yes, love.: He replied resignedly. :No time for fun or dalliances, I know.:

            She sent him a mental snort in reply. :As if you ever took such things lightly.: He masked his chuckle as Tantras approached him and smiled winsomely.

            “Hi. You must be Herald Vanyel,” he said, extending a hand. Vanyel took it and smiled back tentatively.

            “That’s me,” he replied. “Although it’s still odd to hear the Herald.”

            “I can imagine!” Tantras exclaimed. “I mean, especially since you got jumped to Whites so fast.”

            “And not even inside Haven,” Vanyel replied, warming up to the gregarious older Herald. “The last time most Heralds saw me… well, let’s just say I wasn’t exactly proving my skill _or_ integrity.”

            The other man’s face sobered. “I remember,” he said softly. “I had just gotten my Whites when you had that nightmare—the palace foundations shook.”

            Vanyel looked away. “I wasn’t quite myself.”

            “Well, of course not!” Tantras replied, shaking his head. “Everybody knows that. Besides, plenty of Trainees weren’t even here three years ago. It’s just a hard thing to forget, all that power.”

            Vanyel made a face. “Tell me about it.”

            Chuckling, Tantras checked his armor straps. “All right, enough small talk or Falwen will have our behinds.”

            Adjusting his own light padding, Vanyel stepped into the stance he’d perfected at the Vale, working with the scouts. Nearly every day had been an exhausting marathon of training; first, magecraft with Starwind and Moondance all morning, Heraldic duties and Kingdom politics with Savil after a brief break for lunch, then fighting practice with the Tayledras scout captain all afternoon. Sometimes they’d switched the order; sometimes he lay all day in the pools, utterly spent. But he’d spent an entire year after defeating Krebain in that exhausting cycle, and he doubted Tantras could best him. _Especially since hardly anyone fights like me within Valdemar’s borders._

            As soon as the bout began, Vanyel knew he would win. Tantras gave him a good run, though; he was strong and quick for his size. His strokes were sure and his footwork decent, but Vanyel was all speed and grace and endurance. When Tantras began to slow, Vanyel darted in, disarmed him, and struck a killing blow in a dizzying sequence of swordwork.

            Breathing heavily, Tantras lifted his helmet off his head. “Where did you learn to fight like that?” he exclaimed admiringly.

            Falwen picked up the fallen sword and smiled at Vanyel. “He learned in the Outlands. And he will be an excellent sparring partner for those of you who _think_ you have achieved mastery simply because you can best those who fight _exactly_ the way you do!” He paused and handed Tantras’ wooden blade to Vanyel. “I misjudged you, Herald Mage. You certainly deserve those clothes.”

            With that, he walked toward the opposite side of the salle to work with the other pairs of sparring trainees.

            Tantras clapped him on the shoulder. “Well done, Vanyel!”

            “Oh—call me Van, all my friends do,” he replied, smiling a bit shyly.

            “Van, then. And mine call me Tran. See you for another bout tomorrow?”

            “If my schedule permits,” Vanyel replied dryly. “Apparently I’m to catch up on the two years of Court affairs and training I missed, all in the course of a few months. Then they’ll officially give me these Whites Savil already handed me, and throw me somewhere awful and dangerous like Karse.”

            Laughing, Tantras replied, “Sounds lovely. Makes me a bit glad I’m not the most famous new Herald Haven’s ever known.”

            “Gods. That’s a dubious honor!” Clasping Tantras’ hand goodbye, Vanyel hurried his step away from the practice ground and toward the room he’d thrown his packs in, exhausted, last night. As he drew nearer, the familiar surroundings hit him like a punch in the stomach. _Oh—Gods—I didn’t notice last night, I didn’t even_ think _, I just fell into bed, but this… this is my old suite. Our old suite._ He leaned against the doorframe and attempted to stem the flood of memories.

            _‘Lendel, hair tousled, a book dangling from his hand, smiling as he opened the door, “Come in, Vanyel-ashke.”_

_‘Lendel, sprawled naked on the bed, arching an eyebrow and laughing. “Again, already?”_

_‘Lendel…_

            The dual trials of travel and arms work caught up to him, then, and he crumpled against the solid wood. _Gods, Gods, will this ever ease?_

            Yfandes extended a tentative Mindtouch and he let her in.

            :I’m sorry, love, I’m just tired—and it hit me, being here, all at once.:

            :I know, Chosen. I’m here for you.: She Sent him a wordless wave of love that steadied and reassured him all at once. He picked himself up and peeled off his tunic, shoving his memories aside for the moment and studying his reflection in the mirror. _Hold it together. This whole exercise with Savil’s Workroom might be moot if I show up looking like an emotional, sweaty teenager_.

            The two years at the Vale had aged him a bit; he still had barely any facial hair, but his features were more refined now, more—

            :Beautiful.: Yfandes sent him with a hint of humor. :Not that you make much use of your brilliant good looks.:

            Vanyel snorted. :When? Was I supposed to engage in erotic exercise between Starwind’s badgering and Savil’s lectures? Or perhaps on the road home, while Savil was sleeping?:

            She sent him a wave of mental laughter. :You did find time, that once.:

            :More than just _once_.: He Sent back, a bit of his good humor returning. :Firefeather was rather… tireless.:

            :I recall.: She replied dryly. :Blocking only goes so far.:

            _Not that it was anything like it was with ‘Lendel—_ he stopped the thought before it could go any further and pulled on a clean set of Whites. By now Jaysen and Savil were likely waiting for him, and being any later certainly wouldn’t convince Jays of his maturity.

           

            He fairly rushed down the hall to Savil’s Workroom, avoiding looking too closely at any of the overly familiar surroundings. She was waiting for him, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

            :What kept you?:

            :I…: he trailed off. It was virtually impossible to lie mind-to-mind, especially to someone as close as Savil.

            She sighed audibly. :I know how you feel, _ke’chara_. I hurt too. That’s why I can’t wait for this move to be over with.:

            He looked around. Jaysen still wasn’t there. “I can’t take the room, Aunt,” he said softly. “I won’t be able to sleep there again.”

            Moving toward him, she laid a hand on his cheek. “Stay in mine, tonight. There’s an extra bedroll.”

            He looked at her in wordless thanks before turning quickly as he felt a brush against the room’s shields.

            “It’s just me,” Jaysen said in his gravelly voice. Then, inclining his head, he said with a hint of coldness, “Herald Vanyel.”

            Savil narrowed her eyes. “Oh, come off it, Jays. He deserves his little suit there as much as you do yours.”

            “Savil, I trust you, but the last time any of us saw Vanyel, he was about to bring the entire Palace down. A little doubt is not unwarranted.” He turned to face Vanyel and his face softened a bit. “No harm intended.”

            Vanyel simply shrugged. _I can’t take offense, everyone feels that way. Plus, we’ll be working together, so we need to get along._ “You’re right, Jaysen. But I’ve grown, and I’m fully trained. I trust what you see today will allay your fears.”

            “I hope so,” he said gruffly. “So, are we linking then?”

            Savil smiled slowly. This was the part they were excited for; they’d planned it together. “No, we’re not. We’re just here as witnesses, Jays. Since it’s well known that you have your doubts, we thought you’d be an excellent witness to Vanyel’s competence with complex spells.”

            Looking a bit hurt, Jaysen said, “I’m not the only one who has doubts—“

            “Sh.” Savil cut him off. “Vanyel’s going into trance.”           

            He barely heard them as he settled his consciousness into the warm, comforting wood of Savil’s Workbench. Deep and old, it held layer upon layer of delicate shield, all tied to the bench with thin cords of power. Slowly, with infinite finesse, he unraveled each cord of power with invisible fingers, until the cords fell free and the shields hung unsupported over top. This was the tricky part, and he steadied his nerves as he picked up the first shield as carefully as he would a china plate. Using FarSight, he Looked to the new room, and then, with a strange combination of Fetching and Mage Gift he settled the first shield on the new pine bench. Sensing the unfamiliar surface, it began to seethe with energy, preparing to release its bound force, until Vanyel Sent it the essence of the first bench with a layered Illusion. It calmed and settled, and he breathed a sigh of relief before swiftly settling, one after the other, each remaining shield in identical order. Finally, he flew the cords over and around the new bench, anchoring them through each shield individually.

            When he finally opened his eyes, Jaysen was staring at him like a landed fish, mouth gaping.

            “Close your mouth, Jays, you look a fool,” Savil said with barely restrained glee. “Well done, nephew.”

            Vanyel leaned into the bench, catching his breath. “I was worried for a moment, there—“

            Jaysen shook his head. “I wasn’t! I’ve never seen a move like that—done that way—that combination of gifts, so smooth, so controlled, so fast! That’s an all day operation for any other three or four Heralds… that you could do it by yourself…” Realization dawned in his eyes, then. “Savil—you know what this means, this ability.”

            “Karse,” Vanyel said, to spare the dance around the words. “North first, for those rogue wizards, then Karse. I know.” He almost smiled, then, at Jaysen’s look of sympathy. “I’d rather be there, honestly. I’d rather be doing something far from here, something to so totally occupy my mind and use my abilities that I can’t help but keep on going.”

            “Van…” Savil trailed off. “I wish it was easier, here.”

            He smiled thinly. “I don’t know if it ever will be.”

            Jaysen looked thoroughly embarrassed. “Well, Savil’s right, I’m a fool. You could best any Herald-Mage or Herald in the Circle, so I’m certainly going to speak for you. But you’ll _be_ in the Circle, soon enough, with control and power like that. You’ll be above all of us, you know.” He looked past Vanyel, then, eyes calculating. “I give it about four years before you’re First Herald-Mage.”

            Taken aback, Vanyel sputtered, “I—But I—I don’t want that kind of status! That responsibility. I just want to do my duty.”

            Shaking her head, Savil said, “I’m afraid that will be your duty, _ke’chara_.”

            “It’s neither here nor there, at any rate, for now. You’ll be in Haven at least another few months; they have to trust they can send you out. My word will only go so far; your actions in Court, in the Circle, and on the practice ground will show the rest,” Jaysen stated. Then, with warmth he’d never shown Vanyel, he moved toward the younger man and clasped his arms. “But for my part… welcome to the Heralds, Vanyel Ashkevron.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days flew by so quickly, between helping Savil with the physical aspect of her move, attending Court audiences, sitting in on Circle meetings, and performing various Mage tasks with the four Web Guardians, that it was a week before he managed to make it back to Arms practice during actual training hours.

“Van!” Tantras called out, pausing in his bout with his sparring partner to smile and wave from across the salle. “There you are! Finally”

            Vanyel smiled back with genuine warmth. “I know; I’ve only been able to practice at the most absurd hours.” He looked at Tantras’ sparring partner with a bit of curiosity. _I know so few of my colleagues._ “Hello.”

            Tantras clapped a hand to his forehead. “I’ve been rude! Jocelyn, this is Herald Vanyel. Herald Vanyel, Herald-Trainee Jocelyn.”

            The younger girl’s gaze followed him from head to toe, lingering on his face. “I’ve never seen you before,” she said slowly, with a slightly coquettish look.

            Groaning inwardly, Vanyel replied more coldly than he intended, “I’ve been away.”

            She flinched and Tantras shot him a surprised look. “Vanyel was with the _Tayledras_ , the Hawkbrothers. He’s the new Herald everyone’s been talking about, with all the Gifts.”  
            He flushed. _Gifts I never wanted…_ He shut the thought down, as he was growing accustomed to doing. _This is my life now, and I’ll be working with all these people._ Plastering a smile on his face, he said, with feigned warmth, “Yes, I just finished my training and came back to report for duty. I’ve been sparring a bit, with Tran.”

            “Oh!” she replied, face brightening. “I have heard of you! I remember, because I’ve been studying languages with the Chronicler—they told me my Gifts would probably place me into any number of envoy positions, with Rethwellan or Hardorn or even Karse, if hostilities ever calm down. Anyways, I was reading about how Herald Savil met the Hawkbrothers, and Kevron—the Chronicler—told me a new Herald just got back from there and might be able to tell me some _Tayledras_ words!” It all came out in a great breath, her green eyes alight with curiosity, and Vanyel noticed Tantras’ eyes fixed on the girl’s face.

            _Well, so much for that thought,_ he thought ruefully. _He’s certainly not shay’a’chern._

            “Of course,” he said, trying to be pleasant. She was charming, after all, and probably had enough male admirers that she would give up on him quickly enough. “I’m fairly busy for the moment, but perhaps we can find a time later in the week.”

            “Wonderful!” she exclaimed, then swore as she checked the angle of the sun. “Tripes, I’ve got History in a moment and I’m a mess!” Waving goodbye, she handed Tantras her practice sword and fairly ran out of the salle.

            “She’s a calm one,” Vanyel remarked dryly.

            “Never a dull moment with Joce,” Tantras remarked cheerfully. “Well! She certainly took a shine to you.”

            Vanyel shrugged. “It happens a lot.”

            Laughing, Tantras put the girl’s sword down and handed Vanyel the thin practice blade he preferred. “Modest, aren’t we? The best-looking thing to walk in Haven the past two years offers herself up to you on a platter, and you just shrug as if you could care less.”

            “I’m not interested in… that,” he said, flushing.

            “Oh, come on! You’re a Herald. We may be honorable, but we aren’t known for our moral prurience in that realm.” Tantras paused, then, and frowned. “Oh. That’s right, I remember hearing the story behind your nightmares-- you wouldn't be interested in Joce, would you? Gods, don't answer that," he finished quickly, looking generally embarrassed. 

             The reminder of 'Lendel's death hurt, a bit, but Tantras' awkwardness was enough to bring a slight smile to his face. "It's all right, really. No, I wouldn't be interested-- and if you asked me what the best-looking thing to have walked into Haven was, I'd probably have a different opinion." _I'd say you_ , he thought briefly, then felt a surge of unhappiness. _Why does it have to be the strange thing to be_ shaych _?_

Fortunately, however, Tantras smiled and batted his eyelashes. "Oh really?" He paused. "So you're saying I might have a chance with Haven's newest and _most unbelievably_ handsome Herald-Mage?"

             His imitation of the Court ladies was so accurate in its absurdities that Vanyel had to laugh. "Perhaps more than a chance," he replied, tempted into flirting.

             With an impish grin, Tantras threw an arm over his shoulders and said, "Maybe just a practice bout to start."


	3. Chapter 3

           The meeting with Jocelyn came and went, amidst the endless bustle. By then she’d fallen for Tantras and was interested in Vanyel for purely academic purposes. Apparently Tantras had mentioned something of his preferences to her, though, for she’d murmured as she was leaving, “You’re not alone, here, you know. My brother’s in Healers and he’s—well, like you. Not into girls much. He just got his Greens. I can have you meet, if you like.”

            He’d mumbled a noncommittal yes, and promised her another _Tayledras_ session. She was quite fun, actually, and a nice distraction from the heavy load of duties rapidly accumulating on his plate. Over the next few months another distraction came in the form of two new Heralds he’d been assigned to Kingdom politics lessons with, Randale and Voors. Randale became an instant friend, as quickly as Tantras had, if not more so. Vanyel quickly found himself spending most of his spare time with him and his lifebonded, Shavri.

            He had one of those rare free moments now, walking back from a session with the Heraldic Circle, and spied Randale and Shavri at their usual lounging spot, just outside Companion Field.

            “Heyla, Van!” Randale called, waving wildly. Shavri turned and favored him with a dazzling smile. He shaded his eyes against the late summer sun.

            “My lord, my lady,” he said, with a gently mocking bow. It was a joke between them; Randale was technically in line for the throne, although he was far enough away that few thought he’d ever come close to being King.

            They laughed. “Stop with that, Van, or you’ll curse us into actually _becoming_ nobles!” Shavri cried, rushing over to kiss his cheek.

            “How was the Circle meeting?” Randale asked, clasping his arms.

            “Unbearably dull as ever,” Vanyel said, sighing. “But I fear I’m destined to become involved in politics, like it or no. The strength of my Mage Gift pretty much condemns me.”

            Randale shuddered. “Being in line for the throne is enough to shoulder for me. I don’t envy you.”

            “Nobody really does,” Vanyel replied with a slight smile. “Except fools.”

            In her soft voice, Shavri commented, “There’s no shortage of those. Plenty of nobles around Court scheme for your favor, you know. Haven’t you noticed the party invitations?”  
            Randale looked at her in surprise. “I didn’t know you followed Court affairs!”

            “I don’t,” she replied with a smile. “But I work closely with a Healer who follows _Vanyel_ affairs.”

            With a guffaw, Randale looked sideways at Vanyel. “Another lady loses her heart to those beautiful silver eyes!”  
            Rolling his eyes, he replied, “Lovely. Another stranger following my life!”

            The entire time, Shavri was shaking her head vigorously. “Not a lady, Van. Not this time.”

            He turned shocked eyes on her. “Are my preferences so public?”

            “You’re public! And you’ve never made it any secret to your friends or even to your acquaintances. Which is a good thing!” she added hastily. “Nobody cares, unless they’re a total ass.”  
            “Like my father,” he muttered, then regretted the awkward comment.

            She took his hand. “Like your father. He is an ass, a total ass, to care about that. You do so much here; you give so much of your time to duty! Any man should be glad to have you as a son.”

            He shrugged, embarrassed by the subject. “Well, I don’t see it changing anytime soon.”

            “Unfortunately, from what you’ve told me, I don’t either,” Randale chimed in. “But on to lighter subjects—who is this Healer?”

            Shavri smiled. “He’s adorable. He has a younger sister who’s a Herald-trainee—that’s how he found out about Van, I think.”

            “I know who he is!” Vanyel exclaimed. “Jocelyn’s brother. She’s been begging me to meet him, but when would I find the time? Besides…” he trailed off.

            “Besides _what_?” Randale looked exasperated. “You’ve been back in Haven six—or seven, is it—months now, you’ll be sent out Gods know where any day now, and you haven’t had a pinch of romantic company.”

            “He’s right,” Shavri said, turning her dark eyes on him. “You might not be back in civilized lands for months. And I can only guess how long you’ve been celibate!”

            Sighing, he set his chin in his hands. “I’m tired. More than tired, I finish virtually every day exhausted. The rare moments I can spare, I prefer to spend with friends—“ he paused—“Because, you must realize, any lover I have will be nothing but temporary.”

            “Are you so sure?” Shavri asked softly, extending her Empathic gift.

            He closed his eyes and, just for a moment, let her Feel a hint of his pain. When he opened them, she was staring at him with a pained expression. “Oh, Van,” she whispered. “How do you do it?”

            “I keep busy,” he replied humorlessly.

            Randale looked from her face to his. “I don’t doubt your pain, Van, but don’t you think distracting yourself might help? You’re human, you’re not a machine.”

            “Of course it would help,” he said, looking into the distance. “For a little while. Then, when I realize I don’t want anything deeper, it’ll hurt more. The comparison will only remind me of what I’ve lost.” Taking a deep breath, he looked at them and smiled. “I’m okay, really. I have duty now—“

            “Gods, that’s a glum replacement!” Randale exclaimed.

            “Yes, but it’s a purpose,” Vanyel said. “It’s a reason to live; a new thing to care about. At least I know I can make a difference with these gifts, that there’s some purpose to being here, in the world, and living.” He smiled and looked away again. “It’s funny, that’s something I never had before. I didn’t know _what_ I would do with my life; I felt essentially useless. And now…”

            “You’re the most useful person in the Kingdom,” Shavri said, gently stroking Randale’s hair.

            “Speaking of which—I have to get back to those duties.” He paused and took both their hands. “Thank you. For listening.”

            “We’re here for you,” Randale said, holding Vanyel’s gaze. “We’ll always support you, Van.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

           Two days later, the Circle met and officially approved his status as Herald-Mage. The day after that, Vanyel got his orders from Lancir and the Queen: he was going north, as he’d long suspected. He was to leave within the week.

            This particular band of hedge wizards had been around for quite some time; they were renegades who had either caused trouble and been kicked out of a wizarding school or simply dropped out for the more lucrative banditry profession. For some time, the Queen had ignored them, since they’d confined their raiding to stealing a few trinkets from wealthy merchants. But now, with their band having doubled in size, they were attacking full caravans and taking prisoners. Originally, Savil and Jaysen were to go, but they’d both just acquired new apprentices _and_ were Guardians of the Web. The only person left with enough power to handily take them out was Vanyel. And conveniently, he was also the one person the entire Circle and Court wanted to see in action.

            Coming back from his meeting with Lancir and the Queen, he decided to stop by Shavri’s room in the Healer’s wing to say goodbye. What with preparing his bags and gathering information, Gods knew he wasn’t likely to have another chance.

            Arriving at her door, he knocked once, then twice, before trying the handle. It was locked; she was surely working late. He sighed and turned to leave, only to find himself face-to-face with exactly the person he was searching for.

            “Vanyel!” she exclaimed, kissing him hello.

            He smiled. “Shavri. Just who I was looking for!” Then, as she pulled back, he realized she wasn’t alone.

            “Oh—hullo,” the young man behind her said, flushing. “I’m Gwendal.” He was adorable, with blondish brown waves of hair and green eyes. He looked just like someone Vanyel knew—

            “Jocelyn’s brother,” he said, smiling.

            “Yes,” Gwendal replied. “She told you about me?”

            _Told me you were shay’a’achern, yes. Not much else._ Vanyel thought with a bit of humor. “Well, you look remarkably alike.”

            “We get that a lot,” Gwendal said with a chuckle. “Everyone thought we were twins growing up.”

            “I can imagine,” Van replied. “I never had that problem, though. Nobody in my family looks anything like me.”

            “I’ve never seen anyone who looks anything like you,” Gwendal blurted then flushed.

            Shavri stifled a chuckle. “He does have the most remarkable eyes. And that thick, blue-black hair…”

            Vanyel shot her a venomous look, his face redder than Gwendal’s. “Well, at any rate, I just wanted to say goodbye, Shavri. I’m set to leave in two days for the Northern border.”

            “So soon?!” she exclaimed, eyes wide. “You must join us for dinner tonight, then. Randale will be here any moment, and I know he’d want to say goodbye.” She paused, then, and looked slyly at Gwendal. “Why don’t you join us, too?”

            The young Healer’s face brightened. “I’d love to!”

            Shavri normally shared her quarters with another Healer, but since Mathos was out on duty, she had a large space to herself. She opened the door and Vanyel quickly claimed the lone armchair in the sitting area, forcing Gwendal and Shavri to sit together on the couch. He felt strangely embarrassed by the whole situation, and not the least bit anxious about packing for his trip.

            :Calm down, Van.: Yfandes Mindspoke him. :Everybody has the right to say goodbye to their friends before leaving! Nobody will think less of you for enjoying this one night. And besides, you could use a new friend…: her Mindvoice trailed off before Van could discern what, exactly, she meant by that last comment. He stole another look at Gwendal. The Healer had that soft, naturally rosy skin that invites touch, combined with wide, friendly eyes and a delicate mouth. He was slender, but tall, with long legs stretched out in front of him. Catching Vanyel staring, the other man smiled and gave him a smoldering look before Vanyel turned away, embarrassed.

            “Shavri tells me you have _every_ Heraldic gift?!” Gwendal exclaimed, undeterred. “That must be both fascinating and exhausting.”

            Vanyel arched a surprised eyebrow. “A lot of people just think it’s fascinating, and that I’m awfully lucky. Hardly anyone mentions the exhaustion piece.”

            “Well, I saw my sister go through the pain of nightmares and flash forwards for the sole gift of Foresight, so I can’t imagine the trial of seven Gifts. And, of course, as every Gifted person knows—more power means more responsibility.”

            Nodding in agreement, Vanyel replied, “That’s what I’m finding out, the longer I stay at the Palace. And I want to help, I do, but sometimes… it feels like a burden.”

            He was surprised; he usually didn’t open up like this to strangers, but the Healer had such a friendly, open demeanor—and he seemed to understand. By the time Randale showed up and Shavri ordered dinner, they’d had almost a pitcher of wine each and Gwendal was doing a flawless imitation of his sister in the throes of one of her many projects.

            Choking down a laugh, Vanyel said, “Try giving her language lessons! Before you can get out one set of verbs, she has a thousand new questions, and you wind up only teaching two words per session!”  
            Gwendal laughed. “She was the same way growing up. I always felt like I had to take care of her, to make sure she didn’t lose her change purse or her groceries on the road when something else caught her eye.” He paused. “Of course, she took care of me too.”

            Vanyel looked at him questioningly and Gwendal glanced at Randale and Shavri. The two lifebonded were nestled in the single armchair—somehow Vanyel had wound up on the couch—and weren’t paying the slightest attention to anything or anyone else in the room.

            “Well, when I realized what I was—“ he flushed then continued. “It wasn’t easy, of course. My family doesn’t have a title, but we’re fairly prominent merchants, and when I was spotted kissing another merchant’s boy—let’s just say they were pleased to send me off to Healer’s, whereas before they would have protested losing their oldest son to Haven. But Jocelyn, she was always there for me. Never cared.”

            At some point when Gwendal was speaking he had taken Vanyel’s hand, and Vanyel looked down at their joined hands a bit nervously before downing his cup of wine.

            “I have the same sort of relationship with my sister, only she’s older,” he said with a distant smile. “Lissa’s always protected me. She’s stood by my side through everything and she’s never cared a whit who I sleep with.”

            Gwendal was tracing delicate circles on his hand, now, and biting his lip slightly. “Van…” he murmured. The wine seemed to be going down faster now, in both their glasses, and Vanyel met his gaze. Gwendal’s green eyes were half-open and looked at Vanyel with blatant desire. Vanyel flushed, and felt his own desire rising in answer. Sensing that, Gwendal bent his head and kissed him lightly on the lips. Vanyel shot a worried glance at Randale and Shavri, and Gwendal shook his head amusedly.

            “You’re not ashamed, are you?”

            “No…” Vanyel trailed off. “Just uncomfortable about it still, I guess. In front of other people.”

            “Well,” Gwendal said, moving his body closer to Vanyel’s on the couch, “Those are two people who appreciate love of any kind.” He kissed Vanyel again, harder this time, opening his mouth and playing his tongue against the Herald’s.

            Vanyel felt his body answer and his heart race. _He’s good at this_. But shyness stopped him; shyness, and the fact that he’d met this man three candlemarks ago. Gently, he pulled away. “I should go—it’s late.”

            Gwendal looked down. “All right… I understand.”

            “Hey.” Vanyel laid a hand on the other man’s cheek. “Maybe we can see each other again? When I get back?”

            Flashing him a brilliant smile, Gwendal replied, “Now I’m counting on it.”


	5. Chapter 5

            _They could’ve picked a better time to send me North_ , Vanyel thought grimly, huddling further into his cloak. Late autumn was rapidly giving way to the iron cold of winter, especially this close to the Iftel border. He reinforced his shields and checked his cloaking spell before asking Yfandes to move forward. _Not only am I frozen to the bone, I can’t_ see _anything in this mess of icy rain._

            It had taken him a fortnight to make his way to the town closest to the wizards’ encampment, but somehow, they had gotten word of his coming and had fled to some remote woods hideaway. For the past three days, Vanyel had been scouring the countryside and making camp in the dark, unwelcoming woods, trying to find some trace of magic or human presence.

            As Yfandes strayed further from the set path, he Looked with his Gift into a small clearing just ahead. It had appeared empty, but… _Men._ _They hid their entire camp with a cloaking spell; they must know I’m strongly gifted._ The smell of smoke hit him, along with the foul scent of too much humanity packed into too small a place. _There must be twenty wizards there, at least, to cloak that whole space._ Fortunately, he’d tapped a node about a mile back, and he could still touch the power from here. _I doubt any of them is an Adept._ He sent out a probe. _None of them, and only one is even Master class. But they have numbers…_ Then, one of the mages looked up in alarm, and Vanyel readied a massive bolt of power.

            He was still Shielded, and was relatively certain the other mage couldn’t see or sense him, but with so little life moving around the woods, even an invisible man had traces. As a lone crow flew near his Shielded form, then swerved abruptly away, Vanyel Saw the man’s eyes narrow as he called out a warning. Soon, five other mages had joined him and were rapidly securing the wards with muttered spells and rapid hand motions. Nobody moved to attack, however, which Vanyel thought was just as well. Now that he knew where they were holed up, he preferred to wait and let them grow careless again.

            He watched as the mages finished their work, waited until all but one had returned to the large shack that appeared to be serving as a communal house.

            :Ready, ‘Fandes?: He Sent her.

            :Let’s make camp.: She replied grimly. He knew she was dreading the cold week of fireless camping as much as him, but there was no other option: a spell could draw too much attention and a fire was out of the question.

 

 

            Eight days later, he woke to the familiar sensation of ‘Fandes’ body wrapped around his. He groaned softly, stretching aching bones and opening his limbs to the bitter chill of the air.

            :I don’t think I can take another night of this.: Yfandes said, snorting and rising to glare in the direction of the wizard’s camp. :Your spells are ready; let’s finish this.:

            Vanyel Sent her a mental image of a human and a horse ice sculpture. :I agree.:

            She snorted again, this time with humor, and sent him back a live horse being ridden by the human sculpture. :It’ll take more than warm weather to thaw you, Chosen.:

            Shaking his head, Vanyel let that cryptic remark slide and settled onto Yfandes’ back. He had layered shields on both himself and Yfandes, along with preparing a vast array of offensive spells. _Honestly, though, I’m best at improvising,_ he thought, as Yfandes began threading her way through the tree toward the enemy camp. _These ritual spells are only good for the first five minutes, until everything goes haywire._

            Approaching the camp, Vanyel saw the same lone mage standing guard, noticing with satisfaction that the shields were at their most basic state. He’d picked this early hour of the morning just for that; most defensive spells set by Journeymen level mages would fade after a few hours, leaving only the most basic layer of shielding. He readied the first spell in his arsenal, a sort of massive blast of power shaped like a drill, and sent it tunneling mercilessly through the shield. The sleepy mage barely had a chance to sound an alarm before he was through the camp’s protections and charging forward with Yfandes.

            The guard managed to send sparks flying skyward before Vanyel rode him down and split his head with his sword pommel. _As usual,_ Vanyel thought wryly. _No protection against physical weapons._

            Then his attention was drawn elsewhere as the first four mages poured out of the central shack to face him. Vanyel quickly sent his _sandaar_ , a fire elemental he’d summoned and strengthened for two days, raging into the enemy building, setting everything and everyone inside on fire. He quelled his conscience’s rising objections as the four mages facing him began throwing violent spells against his shields. _Twenty to one, how can I hope to be honorable?_ He thought briefly, madly, as he flung up new shields to replace the disintegrating ones.

            The mage in front was clearly the leader, with the other three serving mainly to protect him and to launch the occasional offensive spell against Vanyel. _Well, I doubt he’s ready for this._ Vanyel reached into the stored node power and filled his hands with the stuff before sending Yfandes flying straight at the other man. He reached out, then, and dismounted _onto_ the mage, grabbing his face and burning it with the power until the skin melted into skull. Swallowing bile, Vanyel Felt the axe hit into his shield —he, for one, always shielded against the physical—and he drew his sword to block the second swing. This mage clearly preferred material weapons, meaning his power was probably weak, so Vanyel shot two levinbolts at him with his spare hand. Both hit home, and the man crumpled, his weak shields crisped away.

            The two remaining mages looked at the shack, now burned to its bare bones with only piles of ashes inside, looked at their dead leader, then turned terrified faces toward Vanyel.

            “We surrender,” the first one said, dropping to his face in the bloody snow. His friend followed, crying silent tears into the snow. Sighing, Vanyel bound them in cords of power and looked at Yfandes.

            :What am I going to do with them?:

            :Feed the wolves?: She suggested with what felt like a mental shrug.

            :Not feeling too sympathetic after they raped and pillaged that village back there, huh?:

            :After seeing the ravaged ten year old girl? No, not particularly.: She replied, acid lacing her tone.

            He sighed again and stared at the pathetic men in front of him.  “I’ll let the villagers of Shawnee decide your punishment,” he stated coldly. “Those who are left, anyways.”

            The men blubbered thanks into the ground before Vanyel took their “leash” and began the slow trek back to civilization.

 

 

            The closest town—Miller’s Cove, a half-day’s ride from the camp— was quiet when he arrived, just as dusk was giving way to evening, and only a small girl marked his arrival with the two men. She darted from her post by the town signpost into the center, and before Vanyel knew it, the mayor was making his way toward him.

            Stopping in his steady procession toward the town hall, Vanyel faced the short, older man who was rubbing his hands nervously.

            “Herald-mage,” the mayor said. “You have… succeeded?”

            “The mage camp is destroyed,” Vanyel replied. “These two surrendered. I remand them into the justice of the Shawnee survivors.”

            “Ah… we thank you, then. But—we can’t hold them. They have magic!” The mayor squeaked, looking at the two men with undisguised fear.

            Vanyel tugged on the leash, sending the men to their knees. “Well, the trial can occur without any undue delay.” He looked pointedly at the mayor, then at the gallows. _Why they have a gallows, I don’t know…_ then, looking at the hasty structure, his conscience began to settle for the first time. _Ah. The wizards built it. They must have passed through here after Shawnee, and performed some sort of “justice” on the town folk intended to inspire terror… and certainly silence._

            “Of course, of course. Immediately, even,” the mayor replied, beckoning for the small girl and whispering in her ear.

            Sure enough, not two minutes after the mayor sent for them, the Shawnee survivors—one maimed farmer and two small, silent children were approaching the town center. They heard Vanyel’s request for justice and stared briefly at the men.

            “Hang them, “ the farmer said abruptly. “And they still suffer far less than my wife or daughter.”

            Vanyel bowed his head in acquiescence. The mayor looked none too relieved, insisting that the execution take place immediately. As the farmer readied the gallows— _thank Havens he volunteered_ — Vanyel felt Yfandes’ Mindtouch.

            :You don’t have to watch, Chosen.:

            :Yes, I do.: He replied grimly, as the first man’s legs began to twitch wildly, searching for some solid ground amidst the insubstantial air. When the second man’s breathing ceased its coarse rhythm, he lowered his gaze. :I always have to watch.:

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

            “Congratulations, Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron,” the Queen said, pouring him a cupful of wine.

            He took it silently. He hadn’t expected to meet with Queen Elspeth privately; he’d never spoken to her in person, always through Savil or Lancir. But despite the late hour at which he’d returned, she’d insisted on seeing him personally. Exhausted by travel, still troubled about having burned sixteen men alive and coldly killed four others, he’d wanted nothing more than his own quiet bed. No Herald denies his Queen, however, and Vanyel wasn’t about to be the first to break that rule.

            “I know you’re likely wondering why I brought you here alone,” she said, smiling a bit wryly. “It’s most unusual and perfectly improper.” With that, she winked, and Vanyel bit back a laugh despite himself.

            “I’m sure nobody suspects anything of it,” he said, returning her smile.

            She chuckled. “Certainly not. I trust I’m past the age of suspicion.” Her expression sobered, then, and she studied his face for a minute. “Herald Vanyel, the fact that you can destroy twenty enemy wizards and escape with barely a scratch is incredible. In fact, it’s beyond incredible; it signifies a level of ability unheard of in this kingdom since—oh, Gods only know, perhaps the time of Baron Valdemar.”

            He flushed. “I’m sure it’s not that unusual—“

            She cut him off. “Oh, but it is. Trust me, I’m quite the historian.” Lowering her wine glass to the table, she raised one hand toward the sky. “The Gods usually have their reasons for such events, and I have a strong conviction that Valdemar will need your powers. When I die—“

            “My Queen!” Vanyel exclaimed, uncomfortable and not the least bit disturbed by the trend of the conversation.

            She continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “When I die, the peace treaties I have worked for could very well fall apart. Karse will be at our throat in earnest any day now, and Rethwellen may not honor its agreement. Nor Hardorn. Herald Vanyel—you have to know that you may be _all_ that stands between Valdemar and its enemies. You need to be ready to take on everything that role entails.”

            Frightened now, he looked at the Queen. “Do you really believe so?”

            “I know so,” she whispered, looking at him with empathy now. “Vanyel—I’ve lived a public life my whole life. I’ve known I would have to since I was a girl, since I took the throne. But you—this has all been thrust on you. You’ll likely become Valdemar’s Hero, without ever having signed up for it. I just want you to understand that you might become more than the King, more than the Queen. You might become everything the people put their faith in. Just know that, and be prepared.”

            He studied his wine glass for a moment before downing it in one swift swallow. “My lady—“

            “I’m Elspeth to you,” she said.

            “Elspeth,” he said, with stiff discomfort at the informality. “I’m not all those things—I’m no role model, I’m only just a Herald… I’m certainly no public figure; I can hardly make friends.” He paused, toying with the wine glass stem. “Most of the time, all I feel is exhausted and angry at—at life, at the Gods, at all of this…” he trailed off, realizing how pathetic he sounded, especially to this Queen who had spent all her life working for others.

            But she was smiling, smiling gently at him. “Of course you feel that way, Vanyel. You’ll feel that way your whole life. Hopefully, though, you’ll get some satisfaction out of it too. A greater sense of purpose than most people; a greater pride in what you do.”

            She stood swiftly. “It’s late, now; seek some rest tonight. I’m sure the Court won’t let you have any tomorrow.”

            Vanyel stood and bowed. “My Queen,” he said softly.

            She laid a hand on his shoulder. “We’re colleagues, now, Vanyel. Use my name, please.”

            “Elspeth,” he murmured, less awkwardly than before.

            She smiled. “Be well, Herald Vanyel.”

 

 

            The Queen was right; there was very little rest for him over the next few days. He was invited to virtually every Court party as “congratulations for his great victory” and the Circle met repeatedly to inquire as to exactly how he defeated so many mages at once. The Armsmaster wanted him to come show the Trainees his different fighting style and Queen Elspeth wanted him to have additional training in Valdemaran politics. “Just in case,” she’d said to him with one of her secret smiles.

            _Just in case, indeed_ , he thought sourly, coming back from another one of Lancir’s intensive classes on recent political history. _I feel as though I’m being groomed to take over the Royal seat!_

            :It’s quite an honor, you know.: Yfandes’ Mindvoice was prim. :Not to mention an essential part of your duty.:

            He sent her back a mental snort.

            :Please, Chosen, keep your noises out of my mind. Besides, what would you be doing if you weren’t taking classes? Brooding?:

            Her words struck a bit too close to home and he cut off the conversation abruptly. Shoving open the door to his new room—which, thankfully, contained no memories—he collapsed onto his chair and sighed. _Not_ brooding _,_ he thought resentfully. _Just—remembering._ That sounded nicer.

            A knock on the door distracted him and he pulled himself out of his chair with a sigh. _I just sat down._

            “Milord Herald,” the page said respectfully, handing him a note and standing by the door.

            “Thank you,” he replied. The page didn’t leave. Vanyel stared at him.

            “The man who sent it said to wait for a reply,” the page said quickly, eyes lowered.

            _Strange._ Vanyel opened the note and read it once, then twice, a slight smile on his lips:

            _Vanyel,_

_I heard you’re back. If you’re not too busy, how about dinner tonight? My rooms?_

_-Your friend, Gwendal_

            A brief plan of the Healer’s wing with an X marked over a room was penned on the bottom. Vanyel looked back up at the page. _Why not,_ he thought. “Can you take me to the man who gave you this?”  
             “Of course,” the boy replied, bowing and holding the door.

 

 

            Gwendal’s rooms were in the center of Healer’s, deeper in than Shavri’s, and a good twenty-minute walk from Vanyel’s. He stared at the door for a second, feeling a bit silly and nervous, before the page spared him the trouble and knocked heavily.

            “Coming!” came the voice. The door swung open to reveal Gwendal casually attired, clearly in the process of changing, his tunic laces half undone.

            “Vanyel!” he exclaimed, smiling. “I thought you would give me notice first.”

            “I figured I’d just come instead of wasting the time to send another note,” he said, returning the smile shyly.

            The page took that moment to hold out a hand rather peremptorily and Gwendal fumbled for a coin. Vanyel beat him to it, pressing a mark into the boy’s hand. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

            “Well—come in! I’m not properly dressed yet, but I suppose it’ll do.”

            The expanse of creamy skin visible under his tunic certainly seemed most improper, but Vanyel wasn’t going to be the one to ask him to cover up. _Considering I quite enjoy the view…_

            “So… how have you been?” Vanyel said, a bit awkwardly.

            Gwendal smiled. “Not as busy as you! Everyone’s talking about you, you know. The most powerful man in Valdemar. Killed twenty evil wizards without so much as lifting his finger. If I hadn’t met you, I’d swear you were ten feet tall and positively frightening!”

            Rolling his eyes, Vanyel sat at the small dining table in Gwendal’s quarters. “All exaggeration, of course. The only reason I didn’t lift a finger is because they were all frostbitten by the time I attacked. I’m not invincible, those mages were just idiots.” His expression darkened and his eyes grew distant. “Along with being unprotected, ripe for the picking.”

            “Hey.” Gwendal caught his chin and looked in his eyes. “You saved a lot of people by getting rid of those mages.”

            Vanyel looked away first. “Let’s talk about something else, okay?”

            “Sure, “ he said, stepping back. “Did you know my sister has a new project?”

            With a mock groan, Vanyel threw his hands into the air. “What now?”

           

            Three candlemarks and two bottles of wine later, the candles were burnt almost to the quick and Gwendal and Vanyel had wound up sharing a couch again.

            “I couldn’t wait for you to come back,” he said quietly, catching Vanyel’s gaze and holding it. “I wanted to see you right away, but I knew you were busy, so… I waited.”

            Vanyel reveled in the heat of that gaze, his skin flushed, his eyes glazed with wine and suppressed desire. _I’m allowed this… I’m not supposed to be celibate forever…_

            “I’m glad you sent me the note,” he said simply. Gwendal smiled and pulled Vanyel in for a kiss, a deeper kiss than before, his hands running through Vanyel’s wealth of hair.

 

           

            Sun poured through the window into Vanyel’s eyes and he woke with a start. _Where…?_ He shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked around the unfamiliar room. _So I guess we_ did _make it to the bed at some point last night._ Casting a glance at the Healer’s sleeping form, he couldn’t help but smile. Last night had been very enjoyable, not to mention relaxing. Although… _I just don’t_ feel _anything other than the physical. I enjoy his company; he’s interesting and intelligent, but there’s nothing more to it. If I hadn’t been drunk, I would never have let it go that far._

He sighed and stretched, pulling himself out of the bed carefully so as not to wake the Healer. Gwendal murmured and turned over in his sleep, but didn’t open his eyes. Vanyel quickly gathered his clothes and penned a quick note before rushing out to his early-morning Arms practice. He’d been continuing his bouts with Tantras to make sure his skills were as honed as possible when the inevitable Karse assignment came.

            Tantras shot him an amused look when he finally made it out to the field. “You’re looking a bit disheveled, Van.”

            Vanyel flushed. “Late night.”

            Tantras raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” He smiled and winked. “Well, me too. But Jocelyn’s going out on circuit and leaving me behind, so I’ll be well-rested from here on out.”

            “I know.”

            “Her brother tell you?” Tantras’ smile widened. “Just inferring.”

            Vanyel gave a short, embarrassed laugh. “Perceptive. Have you ever considered politics?”

            “Court life bores me. I’d rather be on the road. Speaking of which, did you hear they’re sending Mardic and Donni out to Karse?”

            “No!” Vanyel exclaimed. “Savil never tells me anything these days; she has dozens of Court meetings. I had better say goodbye.”

            “I’m just glad Joce’s not going out there. Too dangerous. We’ve lost three Heralds in the past year; tensions are worse than ever. When do you think—“

            “—They’ll send me? Any day now. I have a feeling they’re only keeping me to integrate me a bit more into the Court life and get everyone comfortable with the idea of me being in the Circle.”

            “You sound so unconcerned,” Tantras said, surprise etched on his features. “Most people dread an assignation in Karse.”

            Vanyel smiled and gestured widely. “High adventure calls me!”

            Tantras snorted. “I know you’re not that stupid.” He brandished his sword. “Or if you are, I had better be able to take you in this bout!”

            Drawing his practice sword, Vanyel waved it above his head and made a mad dash for Tantras. “For glory!”

            When Tantras disarmed him easily and they fell laughing onto the salle floor, Vanyel felt, for the first time in a long while, as if he were at home.


End file.
